Total pages in book: 195
Estimated words: 185573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 928(@200wpm)___ 742(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 928(@200wpm)___ 742(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Bianca’s entire body stiffens, but she doesn’t reply as her mother gestures for her father. “Come over here and smell her.”
He steps closer, leaning in to sniff her hair, then shakes his head in disappointment.
“What are you thinking, Bianca? Are you trying to destroy everything we’ve built? Is that it?”
“You know how much we’ve sacrificed for you,” her mother chimes in. “How could you do this to us? If anyone ever found out—”
“It’s my fault.” I stand and approach them, watching Bianca’s head whip around in horror as she realizes what I’m doing. “She didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one who was smoking, and she tried to tell me not to. That’s all it was.”
“Who the hell are you?” Her mother’s eyes cut over me with laser-sharp attention, and I don’t miss her disgust. She’s looking at me like I’m something Bianca pulled out of the trash.
“Madden,” Bianca whispers. “Please—”
“Who is this?” her father demands.
“He’s just… someone from my therapy group.” Bianca tears her gaze from mine. “That’s all.”
The way she’s distancing herself right now isn’t a surprise, but it is an eye-opener. This is the reality of it. Bianca can’t ever associate with someone like me. Not when her parents have her entire life laid out for her. In their eyes, my only future is being the hired help. I’m just the guy she’s slumming it with. The one she’ll probably never think about again when she’s living in her mansion with a fat rock on her finger while she plays housewife.
“You stay away from my daughter.” Her mother points a shaky finger at me. “I mean it. Don’t go near her again.”
“Come, Bianca.” Her father grabs her by the arm and hauls her away. “We need to have a word with the counselors.”
Chapter 17
Lyric
After he slams the door so hard, I’m certain it might splinter, Kodiak stomps around the house for the better part of an hour. It’s an ominous sound, his rage a palpable echo, and this isn’t a good sign of things to come.
He isn’t letting me go.
My lungs squeeze as I try to gulp in air. I’m going to hyperventilate if I can’t get it under control. But all I can think about is what he said. He thinks I murdered someone.
When I close my eyes, a vision of my recurring nightmare slams into the forefront of my mind. Blood on my hands. Blood everywhere, staining my clothes, my face, my hair. And the dead eyes staring back at me don’t belong to anyone else. They’re my own.
In my dream, I’m the one who dies, but none of it’s real. The doctors told me it was just a way for my mind to make sense of my fractured reality. I don’t know Adam—whoever he is—and I don’t know Kodiak. It’s obvious he’s lost his grip on reality, and I’m not planning to stick around and listen to more of his accusations.
After calming my racing thoughts, I focus on one step at a time. I’ll wait until the house goes completely quiet, then I’ll wait a little more. Once I’m sure he’s gone to bed, I’ll make my move. I’ll figure out a way to break out of here. It’s the only option I have.
The minutes tick by slowly, and he doesn’t make another appearance. The potent scent of weed drifts into the room through the gap beneath the door, and I think this can only work to my benefit. He’ll be relaxed and, hopefully, passed out.
I search the bar for a small, portable weapon, but the only thing I find that might be useful is the fork he gave me with dinner. It’s not a great option, but I’m not in the position to be picky.
Nothing else here belongs to me, so with one last look around, I head over to the door. I didn’t hear him secure the lock earlier, and if it is, I really don’t know what I’m going to do. My fingers wrap around the handle, and I hold my breath and turn it. When it opens, I freeze.
Holy shit.
This could really work. I might actually get out of here.
I tiptoe out of the room and into the main area of the house, praying the floor doesn’t creak. Being barefoot seems to help, but there’s still the occasional groan from the wood. Every time it happens, I pause, listening for him, but I don’t hear anything. I’m not entirely sure what awaits me as I venture farther, but I feel more confident with every step I take.
My heart pounds when I make it to the entryway, following the same path he took today, but in reverse. It’s hard to see anything, but the house is entombed in silence, and I know he must be asleep in another room.
The soft glow of moonlight in the window illuminates the front door as I draw nearer, and when I make it there unscathed, my eagerness gets the best of me. Freedom is just on the other side, and I don’t hesitate to turn the knob. But this time, an alarm blares, scaring the ever-loving hell out of me.